


All the violent, sweet, perfect words that you said

by DryDreams



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: I have a bit of a smoking kink so Martin and Tim do too, I'm gonna say potential dubcon if you view sex under the influence as such, Jon's First Weed, M/M, Multi, Penetrative Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Threesome, but the consent is enthusiastic, cheesy space metaphors, discussions of wack medieval torture, j and m are trans tim isnt, let’s be honest it’s real nice to look at, my normal setup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28277568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DryDreams/pseuds/DryDreams
Summary: “Jon, tell me about something,” Tim whispers breathlessly.“Tell you about what?”“Anything, anything, I don’t care.”Martin’s eyes flick up to meet Jon's and they crinkle at the edges as he smiles. Jon’s heart gets caught in the gravity.“Do you know what happens when a star dies?”
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 26
Kudos: 170





	All the violent, sweet, perfect words that you said

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I just wanted to give a little warning that I leaned very heavily on using stream of consciousness and really making it feel like the narration is coming from someone who is very not sober (and wrote a lot of it not so myself lol) and I think it has the potential to make one feel a little strange if they are sensitive to such things?? It isn't super bad but just keep that in mind!! and have fun! 
> 
> also, terms used for Jon and Martin's bits are dick/cunt

“Jon.” Martin leans over the back of Jon’s chair, resting his chin on Jon’s head and draping his arms around his shoulders. 

“Hmm?” Jon hums, continuing to scroll through the article he is reading. It’s nearly time for them to go home; Jon has started trying not to stay so late for the sake of dinner time. So he is _trying_ to be finished. Sort of.

“Do you wanna smoke with us tonight?” 

Jon frowns. “Martin, since when do you smoke?”

“Not _cigarettes,_ Jon.” Martin snorts. Ah. 

“Oh. Is it some sort of special occasion?” 

“Ha! No, Tim just got some, and it’ll be the weekend so we figured we would. Could stand to chill out a bit.” He straightens up and squeezes Jon’s shoulders. “And so could you, always.”

“Ah…” Jon hesitates. He doesn’t really want to admit that he’s never so much as taken acetaminophen. But there is also no one to be cool for, so no point in lying. “I’ve never. Before.”

“Oh my God. Never?? _Really?_ ”

“Come now.” Jon flushes. “Surely that’s not a surprise.”

“I mean, it is a little. You sort of seem like… I mean _Georgie_ certainly… well. It’s fine. You’re still welcome, if you want to try.” 

Pursing his lips, Jon shuts his laptop. He can’t come up with any reason to say no. And he is curious. “I think I will, yes. Thank you.”

There is something in Martin’s gaze when Jon stands and turns that he can’t place. He narrows his eyes slightly as he picks up his bag. “What? Did you think I’d say no?” 

Martin blinks at him. “No. I’m just…” he trails off and reaches out, eyes flicking to Jon’s mouth as he nudges under his chin with a knuckle. Habitually Jon lets his head be tipped up, expecting a kiss. But Martin just looks for a long moment, and then lets him go. “Just excited, I guess. Should be fun.” He says with a smile that reveals nothing and then offers his arm as he looks up and meets Jon’s eye again. “Ready to go?”

The butterflies flitting in Jon’s stomach are disappointed that he didn’t get a kiss but feeling pinned by the way Martin looked at him nonetheless. Still suspicious, he lets out a slow breath but takes Martin’s arm anyways, sliding a hand around his elbow and stepping close. “Lights off in the other rooms?” 

“ _Yes_ Jon.”

“Just checking!”

~

Tim has his head in the fridge when they get back to Martin’s place and he stands when they enter, an easy smile on his face. He is still in his clothes from work but they are disheveled, sleeves rolled up, tie loose and top buttons undone. Why he’d worn a tie today is beyond Jon, but he looks awfully nice like this. Appealing, even. It is always sort of funny to Jon how he can have Tim naked in his bed and still not feel any urgency to fuck him, but that seeing the shift of his shoulders under a nice fitted shirt makes Jon’s fingers itch to touch. 

Luckily for him, Tim is more than tactile enough for the both of them. He drops the fridge door like he’s entirely forgotten about it and swoops over as it swings shut, wrapping an arm around Jon’s waist and nuzzling into his neck. Halfheartedly Jon protests, even as he slides both his hands up Tim’s back, smoothing over the fabric as it goes taut. “I’ve not even got my shoes off yet, Tim.”

After several small, tickling kisses under Jon’s ear Tim pulls back slightly. “I haven’t seen you in like two hours, I’d nearly forgotten what you look like.” He teases. Jon doesn’t bother to suppress his eye roll. 

A hand lands briefly on his hip as Martin leans over his shoulder to steal a quick kiss from Tim before moving around them and heading towards the bedroom. “Jon says he wants to join us tonight,” he calls back. Jon doesn’t have to see Tim to know that his eyes light up. 

“Oh yeah?”

“He _says_ it will be his first time.”

Jon sighs loudly when Tim pulls back to look at him, eyebrows raised incredulously. 

“You’re telling me you weren’t a stoner in uni? Really?”

“Of course I wasn’t a— _no!_ I don’t know why this is so hard to believe. Georgie once told me that our friends never invited me to smoke with them because they just… they just _assumed_ I had asthma for some reason. Like I was—“ Jon makes air quotes. “Someone who just looks like they have asthma.”

Tim just blinks at him for a moment, his grin slowly splitting his face before he snorts and then bursts fully into laughter, throwing his head back and clapping a hand against his chest. 

Jon pouts, but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t have asthma.” He adds softly. “I smoked a pack of cigarettes a day back then for Christ’s sake.”

Chuckling and wiping his eyes, Tim pats Jon on the shoulder. “We know, Jon, we know. _Christ_ , that’s funny. Looked like you’d have asthma, _fuck.”_

“And then I just never tried it on my own, you know. Never bothered.” Jon pushes on, trying to move the conversation forward.

“Right, well, better your first time be with us, hmm?” Tim says brightly, moving back to the fridge. “I have a feeling you won’t need much instruction.”

Jon scrunches his nose. “No, I can’t imagine it’s very complicated to _smoke a joint._ ”

Tim laughs again, pulling out a packet of Jaffa cakes and then closing the fridge again. “I mean, we’ve got a _pipe_ , but if you would prefer…” he hesitates, looking thoughtful for a second. He peers at Jon mysteriously and then smiles his I’ve-had-a-dirty-thought smile. Jon squints at him. 

“First of all, keeping your biscuits cold is weird. Second of all, _what_ are you grinning about?”

“I actually think a joint would be much sexier. I’ll see if I have any papers anywhere. Also fuck you, they’re legally cakes.”

Jon sputters. “Sexier!?”

Tim grins. “Yeah.”

~

Jon follows Martin to the bedroom eventually, to change out of his work clothes. It’s a warm evening so he just grabs some sleep shorts and a shirt that turns out to definitely not be his, far too big, but that’s fine. 

Martin is flopped onto the bed, already in something more comfy, tapping away at his phone. He glances at Jon when he wanders over and smiles comfortingly. “Not nervous are you?” He asks as Jon folds down next to him, resting his chin on his shoulder to see what he’s doing on his phone. 

“You are both making such a fuss over this. No, I’m not nervous.” Jon is definitely lying; he is a bit nervous. But he thinks that mostly he just dislikes being the person in the room who is the least experienced at something, no matter what it is. “Just pretend this is totally normal and we’ve done it a million times, and I will feel just fine and not foolish at all.”

Martin huffs out a laugh. He’s scrolling through his notes app, which probably means he’s been jotting down little bits of poems that will make Jon feel fragile inside if he reads them. So he rolls off Martin and onto his back instead, looking up at the ceiling. 

“I will pretend that you know what you’re doing.” Martin says graciously. Jon finds a hole at the hem of what he now thinks is Tim’s shirt and sticks his finger through it. 

“Thank you.” He says, a bit more huffy than he means to be. Maybe he could stand to chill out after all. 

~

Tim traipses in a few minutes later, interrupting the peaceful silence they have been cultivating. “I arranged the snacks and I want to play cards so you two have to come out here,” he announces, unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Ugh, why does it always have to be a party with you,” Martin says, not actually sounding as put out as his words imply. “Can’t we get stoned and just go to sleep for once?” 

“No, look, I treasure my inebriation time with you, my dearest friend. Also I cannot _wait_ to hear the Ted Talk Jon will give us when he gets well and proper toasted.”

Martin giggles at that as he rolls over and sits up, and Jon follows, looking between them indignantly. “What is that supposed to mean? I can’t tell if that was rude or not.” He demands. 

“It was not rude, it was simply the truth,” Tim says, stepping out of his pants. “And it will be clear to us all very soon.” 

~

Butter, it turns out, is the answer. Or the subject, the talking point, whatever the hell Ted Talks are about. Margarine, more specifically, and the war it incited with American dairy farmers in the 1980’s. Jon doesn’t remember why he started talking about oil based condiments but here he is, sat sideways on the couch, Tim’s head in his lap and Martin’s under his hand, waving his other demonstrably as he explains what _partially hydrogenated_ means.

It turns out that smoking a joint had been about as easy as he had thought it would be. A bit harsher than a cigarette, rough on his throat and in his chest at first— but he liked the smell better, for some reason. It was softer, but heady, made him feel light instead of grounded. Itched when he blew it out his nose, made him sneeze and made Tim laugh. 

Maybe he had gotten a bit carried away, even, after he remembered how nice it felt to fill his lungs and empty them in a slow exhale, watch the smoke drift up. But Tim had just kept handing it back to him and he was so very wrapped up in how pretty Martin’s mouth looked when he blew out smoke that he just absentmindedly kept taking it, and passing it, until his fingers started twitching and his mouth felt a bit dry and his brain went all maybe-sorta-fizzy and now he’s just been talking and he doesn’t know for how long. 

Tim, sprawled on his back in front of him, reaches up to grab his wrist and stops him in his tracks for a moment, stilling his gesticulating. Jon blinks down at him. “What?” He asks blankly and Tim’s hand slides over his in a way that feels too slow, feels nice— and then he plucks the still-lit joint from Jon’s hand. 

Jon peers at it, having completely forgotten he was holding it. “You got ash on my face.” Tim drawls, reaching down to hold the thing out to Martin, who is sitting on the floor beside them, back against the couch, head against Jon’s thigh. He had looked for a little while like he was dozing as Jon absentmindedly combs through his curls, but opens his eyes lazily when Tim’s hand gets near his face. 

“No, you finish it. I’m good. Super good.” Martin says, leaning more heavily against Jon’s palm. His cheeks are rosy pink and Jon wants to kiss them. He ponders this for a long moment before the words register. 

“Finish?” He asks, suddenly very concerned about not having any more. He feels _nice._ He isn’t finished with feeling nice. 

Tim laughs at him as he takes a drag and the glow of the ember draws Jon’s eye like a magnet. “Don’t worry babe, if you want me to roll another one for you, I can.”

“Maybe he shouldn’t overdo it his first time, Tim.” Martin interjects, in his mothering voice. Jon scrunches his nose. 

“I’m just fine, thank you.” He says, curling his fingers and tugging gently at Martin’s hair. Martin just makes a pleased, rumbling sound in the back of his throat.

“You’ve been talking about _margarine_ for like forty five minutes, my love. You didn’t even notice when Tim won the last game of Snap.”

“Well what would you rather I talk about!?” Jon demands, and his brain informs him that he is being petulant. He ignores it. 

“Mmm I don’t care. Literally anything but this. Hot air balloons, Medieval torture, fucking, I don’t know.”

“I do know quite a bit about medieval torture…” Jon muses, and Tim coughs as he laughs, curling slightly as he does, head lifting off Jon’s lap. A bit of smoke blows out his nose as he sits up and something sparks dimly in Jon’s mind. “Have you heard of the bronze bull? It’s a particularly horrid creation; a terrible way to go. Claustrophobia and cooking alive and horrid, distorted human teapot noises for everyone watching. Almost certainly some sort of desolation ritual, now that I think of it. Oh _Christ,_ how many of those sorts of things do you think were the fears at work? Well, all of them, obviously, but you know what I mean. Think about that goddamn wheel of death thing they had, the, um… the…” He snaps his fingers as he tries to remember, vaguely registering as Tim twists around on the cushion to face him.

There are fingers under his chin then, tugging, and he follows obediently without thinking as he opens his mouth to continue to speak. “Jon. Jon _shh_.” Tim says, and oh, he is very close, suddenly. Jon’s eyes finally follow the turn of his head and focus somewhat slowly on Tim as he trails off. He opens his mouth again to respond but Tim shakes his head and presses a thumb to Jon’s bottom lip, pushing his jaw shut with the knuckles under his chin. “Exhale.” He says, and Jon does. Wide eyed and unquestioning, he empties his lungs with a gentle huff. 

“Now just take from me,” Tim says, and Jon is momentarily confused as he watches Tim bring the now very short roach to his lips and take the long, finishing drag. Then he leans in, and it sparks in Jon’s mind just as Tim kisses him and breathes out and Jon breathes _in_. 

It’s a good hit; the smoke sits heavy in his lungs as Tim deepens the kiss, he feels it go to his head immediately and he spins as Tim’s tongue slides against the seam of his mouth and further. 

When he lets it out slow Tim sighs into his mouth, and his hand uncurls to cradle Jon’s face. The kiss feels like honey and sparklers and putting your head under the warm water in the bath. Jon’s movements feel clumsy and the little sounds coming from the back of his throat feel too loud but he isn’t in charge of them. 

“It shouldn’t be as hot as it is to watch you take a hit,” Tim murmurs against his mouth, shifting them so that he can slip between Jon’s knees and lean over him. 

Jon doesn’t have the presence of mind to scoff; he has the thought and then it fades away, not enough room in his brain for anything but the catch and slide of Tim’s mouth against his. 

And then, fingertips on the sensitive skin of his wrist, winding up his arm as soft lips that he loves press a kiss against his knuckles that throbs through his hand and he feels in his toes. Martin kisses the inside of his wrist and up to his elbow, and Jon’s fingers flex, searching for some part of him to touch, but he can’t see because Tim is getting needy, thumb at the hinge of Jon’s jaw as he tries to climb inside him mouth first, tongue first, teeth first. 

It’s at times like these that Jon’s mind would usually start wandering, planning ahead or considering if he wants to pawn one of them off onto the other one, let them grind each other down instead of him. But he’s got no thoughts, they keep leaving him too quickly; he’s just got a boy in front of him and a boy at his side and he loves them and their kisses feel oh so nice and that’s all and that’s it, he has nothing else to consider. 

He feels Martin stand up at his side and manages to pull away from Tim’s mouth to look up at him, reaching out. Martin gives him a hazy smile and takes his hand, brings it up to his face and presses another kiss to his knuckles. Tim takes this without complaint, attaching himself to Jon’s neck instead, teeth worrying at the sensitive skin there in a clear attempt to leave marks. Jon is far too concerned with the fact that Martin appears to be _leaving_ to care at all about the mess Tim is making of him. 

“I’m just going to the kitchen, I’ll be back. You don’t want any snacks or anything? You finished off that popcorn pretty quick.” Martin says distractedly, eyes drifting to where Tim is sliding his hand under Jon’s shirt. 

“Oh,” Jon says, because more popcorn does sound rather good, but so does some Ribena or some ice cream or even one of those cold Jaffa cakes, honestly. “Hm.” He says instead of answering, and Martin shakes his head, smiling. 

“I’ll bring options.” He says, dropping Jon’s hand and heading off. 

Jon considers how oddly good blackcurrant tastes alongside popcorn as he puts his hand on Tim’s waist and turns his head back. Tim’s hair tickles at the side of his face as they press close. His mouth is hot and wet and it feels very nice above the collar of Jon’s shirt. Jon thinks it would also feel nice if it were down where Tim’s hand is, fingertips drifting over Jon’s ribs. 

“Jon?” Tim’s voice is muffled as he presses his face squarely between the slight swell of Jon’s tits, pausing and relaxing into it like he might just stay there. 

“Hmm?” Jon hums absentmindedly, picking at a thread he’s found at the waistband of Tim’s joggers. 

“D’you wanna fuck?”

Jon runs his hands up Tim’s back, feeling the muscle of his shoulders flex under his fingers, and Tim sighs and shifts on top of him, breath hot against his sternum through the thin fabric of his shirt and hm, yes. He thinks maybe he does. Or something. 

He tips his head vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. “Martin?” He calls

“Yes love?”

“Do you want to fuck?”

Tim slides up and laughs into Jon’s neck and then presses a messy, breathy open mouthed kiss there, scraping his teeth without biting. There’s a beat of silence from Martin and then he appears in the doorway. As he takes in the scene in front of him a small smile appears on his face. “Yeah.” 

“Leave the popcorn and get over here,” Tim says, dipping his fingers into the waistband of Jon’s shorts, pausing there in silent question. Jon contemplates for a moment, analyzing his feelings. It takes a bit longer than normal to figure out what he wants, he thinks, but that’s alright. 

“I think I’d like to keep my pants on for now,” he says, as Martin reaches them and slides his hands onto Jon’s shoulders.

“Mm, yessir,” Tim mumbles against his throat at the same time Martin softly says “okay love,” into his hair and for a moment he almost changes his mind. Maybe later.

“I for one, do not.” Tim announces, pushing up on his knees to steal a kiss from Martin. “Anyone want to take advantage of that?” 

“Mm, yeah, sit down.” Martin says softly and Jon feels little sparks in his belly. 

Tim sits back heavily on his heels, obviously feeling as languid as Jon does. “Where do you wanna be?” He asks, tilting his head as he looks at Jon. 

“You two figure yourselves out and I’ll find my place.” He says absentmindedly, once again having found something that he can’t tear his eyes from as Martin rounds the couch to stand in front of them. There’s a little curl out of place at Martin’s temple, going the wrong way. Jon wonders how long it will take for someone to brush it behind his ear. As Tim leaves his space to shift his position on the couch Jon pulls his knees back and crosses his legs, sliding his hands into the new tight spaces behind his knees. He feels so nice. He wants to laugh for no reason. 

“Do you ever wonder,” he starts to say, because he is thinking about butter again, probably because of the color of Martin’s hair, which isn’t quite butter, and definitely not margarine— but he gets distracted when Martin kneels between Tim’s spread legs. Jon feels like he has tunnel vision, or like he’s watching some sort of nature documentary where the camera follows the movements of the creature carefully as he watches Martin’s hands splay on the inside of Tim’s thighs, sliding and squeezing and then drifting up to his waistband. 

Tim is only half hard against his thigh when Martin tugs his joggers down around his knees. It’s awfully appealing like that, Jon thinks. His cock. Still a bit soft and velvety. Jon almost wants to put his mouth on it, feel it fill out on his tongue. But not enough to miss watching Martin do it. 

The side view of Tim’s body bending like someone is pulling an invisible string at his naval as Martin leans in to suckle gently at the head of his cock— the way his throat bobs as he tips his head back and swallows thickly— that isn’t half bad, either. 

When he moans Jon is pleased, until the unfortunate thought of the torture cow returns intrusively to his mind. He wrinkles his nose and his eyes drift from Tim as he looks back to butter-pale curls. 

Martin is already looking in his direction, out of the corner of his eye, as his cheeks hollow and Tim’s cock disappears entirely past his lips. Meeting his eye sends a little shiver down Jon’s spine. He smiles reflexively and then thinks that must look awfully foolish. But he’s not sure what else to do, so he doesn’t stop.

Martin huffs out a little laugh through his nose as he pulls off, followed by a small gasp as Tim’s hand slides into his hair, on the opposite side from the rogue curl. Eagerly he kitten licks at Tim’s length as it bobs in front of him, fully hard now. “Jon,” he says softly, then pressing a kiss to the head. “You should come over here, if you like.”

“Oh,” Jon says, leaning forward to crawl over to Tim’s side. He kneels next to him and rests a hand on his stomach, enjoying this new angle of Martin very much. “What should I do?” He asks, as Tim’s arm sneaks around his waist. 

“Hey, handsome.” Tim says, his voice rough and breathless. His hand rests on Jon’s hip, warm and solid. “Kiss me?” 

Jon concedes happily, though he rather wants to keep an eye on Martin, but Tim’s clever tongue steals that thought away rather competently. When Tim groans loudly into his mouth, though, he remembers, pulling away with a wet sound to look down at Martin, who has his nose pressed into the dark curls between Tim’s legs, eyes heavy lidded as he looks up at them. There’s a few beats of silence, and then Tim curses brokenly and his hips jerk like he can’t help it, and Martin pulls off with a gasp. He’s grinning, mouth spit-slick and shiny and Jon grins back at him. 

“Did you know that most tranquilizers will temporarily get rid of your gag reflex?” Jon asks cheerily, and watches as Martin’s eyes crinkle at the edges as he laughs. He isn’t sure why the fact is so amusing, but he’s happy to see it nonetheless. Tim starts cackling beside him, tugging at his waist and Jon looks over to him, smiling hesitantly. “I don’t know what’s so funny about that, I hear that it’s abused for pornography sake.”

Tim nearly chokes on his laughter as Martin gets a hand on him and twists. “It’s just— it’s just not very sexy, Jon, is the thing, but—“ he wheezes out another laugh, arching into Martin’s touch. “Very informative, thank you.” 

“I love you, Jon.” Martin says matter of factly, and Jon beams at him. 

“Tim, I want to ride you.” Martin continues, and Tim pouts. 

“You don’t love me?” He asks. Jon snorts. 

“Nope, only your dick.” Martin teases, pressing a final kiss to the tip of it before letting go and sitting back to wiggle out of his pants. 

“Damn.” Tim says, watching attentively. “Can’t believe it, this whole time.”

Jon tips forward into Tim’s shoulder as he laughs and it feels like he’s doing a loop on a roller coaster. Tim catches him with a belated hand. “Woah there boss, take it easy.” 

Still giggling, Jon bats at his arm. “It isn’t my fault Martin is so funny.” He says, turning his face up to smirk pointedly.

Tim takes the bait, mock gasping in offense. “And now I’m not _funny?”_ He complains, looking up and reaching out with his free hand as Martin stands and moves close, then folds himself down on Tim’s lap. “I’m being _horribly_ neglected right now.” He finishes, but the end of it trails off into a sucked in breath as Martin positions himself so that Tim’s cock slides against his arse when he sits.

Martin reaches up to pat his cheek firmly, a gentle few smacks. “Don’t be ungrateful now, Tim.” He sing-songs, then thumbs at Tim’s bottom lip. Tim’s eyes are glazed after the smack, even though it couldn’t have barely even stung, and he lets his mouth loll open as Martin pulls down with his thumb. 

Jon sees Tim’s hand sliding up under Martin’s shirt, fingers curled and it makes him think of a worm under skin. He blinks slowly and then tilts his head. Not exactly the mood he’s looking for. He forces his eyes back to Martin’s face instead and the image melts, completely replaced by the way Martin is looking at Tim, all heavy eyelids, lip caught between his teeth. 

“You’re lovely, Martin.” Jon says dumbly, something lighting up inside him when Martin’s eyes flick to him and his smile turns soft. 

“Thank you.” Martin says, reaching out with the hand not gripping Tim’s chin to tuck Jon’s hair behind his ear. Jon leans into it, feeling like he would probably be purring had he the capabilities for such a thing. Martin’s smile widens as he strokes the back of his knuckles over Jon’s cheek. “So are you.”

Tim makes a neglected sound and Martin looks back to him slyly. “And _so_ are _you_ , handsome. Not that your ego needs my affirmation.” He teases, pushing his thumb into Tim’s mouth. 

Tim sucks at it with feeling. He always has to put on a _show_ when there’s something in his mouth. Jon wonders if it’s on purpose. A memory flashes in his mind— no, not a memory, a fly on the wall scrap of knowledge that he wasn’t and shouldn’t be privy to. But he’s sure Tim wouldn’t mind him watching as he gets off alone in his room sometime not so long ago, moaning dramatically as he pushes his own fingers as far back in his throat as he can get them.

Well, that answers that question. _I didn’t ask,_ Jon thinks pointedly, looking at the ceiling as if that’s where The Eye is, just up there in the clouds like a jolly depiction of God. _And that is not very respectful of us, peeking on him,_ he adds, just to make sure it knows where he stands, even as he plays the lovely image over again. He remembers then that he could see it for real and looks back to them, finds Tim with two of Martin’s fingers three knuckles deep in his mouth, looking about as blissed out as possible as Martin coos something filthy at him. 

Humans are so predictable with their sexual habits, Jon muses as he leans in closer, strongly considering licking the side of Tim’s mouth to see what they’d do. He himself is predictable as well, and it’s annoying. He doesn’t like that Martin can always tell when he’ll be in the mood for something, and it’s even more irritating that he asks anyways, even when Jon _knows_ that he knows. 

“Why don’t you ever just take me, if you’re so good at telling when I want to fuck?” He demands, before nosing at Tim’s cheek and sliding his tongue over the open corner of Tim’s mouth, catching the side of Martin’s finger as he does.

Tim lets out a choking, snorting laugh of surprise, his fingers digging into Jon’s hip. Martin opens his mouth in amused bafflement, grazing his thumb over Jon’s cheek. Jon watches his gaze dart back and forth between Jon’s mouth and Tim’s, then settle somewhat forcefully in contact with Jon’s eyes.

“ _Excuse_ me?” He says, mock offended. “Where did that-- are we having a row, now? What is _happening_ in that brain of yours, Mister Sims?"

Jon pouts at him, sitting back. “I just wanted to know.” He says defensively.

“Well firstly, ask me when you’re not presenting me with the filthiest thing I’ve ever seen, and when you’re not stoned out of your goddamn mind. And the answer is because it’s rude, and I do not _always_ know, actually.”

Tim makes a sound like he’s trying to say something, and Martin slides his fingers out of his mouth. Tim doesn’t repeat himself for a moment, watching with dark eyes as Martin brings his spit slick fingers down and presses them between his thighs. Then he never repeats himself at all, instead growling “oh _fuck me,”_ as he surges forward to kiss Martin fiercely. 

Jon leans back slightly so he doesn’t get clipped by a misplaced elbow, still rather unhappy with the answer he got but quickly forgetting why he was so fussed about it in the first place. When Martin fumbles behind himself, pushes up on his knees and then sinks down on Tim’s cock, both of them moan in lovely unison and Jon feels an empathetic throbbing between his legs. _Goddamn predictable._

“It wouldn’t be rude,” he says quietly, but he doesn’t think either of them hear him, and his eyes fix on that rogue curl again as it starts to bounce. 

~

“I think I’ve changed my mind.” Jon says after Martin comes for the first time, watching Martin’s wet open mouth slide against Tim’s neck as he catches his breath, all of him still trembling slightly. His mouth twitches into a smile as Jon speaks, and Jon glares at it, daring it to be any more pretty, and any less ‘I knew you would.’

Tim on the other hand gapes at him, a funny mixture of excitement and despair as he realizes he could fuck Jon but, if so, doesn’t get to come inside Martin in the next several moments.

Jon frowns as he realizes that asking to be included would be a mild inconvenience. “I mean, no, I don’t have to. You can—“ he waves his hand towards them, and then leans forward to slide it between Martin’s legs. 

“You can come if you like, I know Martin wants you to.” 

Martin whines and jerks as Jon slides his fingers through the mess of his cunt, dipping down to where he’s stretched around Tim. “He really wants you to.” Jon adds, because he knows it is a fact, and it makes Tim curse and grunt and snap his hips, which makes Martin gasp and cry out as Tim shoves deep, curling forward as he comes, pressing his face into Martin’s shoulder.

Jon primly takes his hand back and then presses it between his own thighs, considering which of their dildos he might use to get off now that his inconsiderate body has decided that he wants someone to fuck him, too. His head still feels like it’s not really got his brain in it, like maybe his brain is sort of kind of just above, and maybe that is why it’s taking so long for his thoughts to get to his head, and he could really go for some of that ice cream he was thinking about earlier. Maybe buttered rum. Hm. Butter. 

A lovely pulse of pleasure shivers through him as he rubs at himself through his shorts, and he hums but it comes out a bit more like a little groan. A hand lands on his thigh and he follows the arm up to see Tim looking at him like he’s doing something absolutely unprecedented. Tim’s pupils are wide and dark and his hair is mussed all to shit. Martin has climbed off his lap and is pulling a towel from who the hell knows where— he likes to hide them around the flat because the bathroom is upstairs and this sort of romp in the living room happens more often than Jon thinks is probably normal for people their age. 

“Hello?” Jon says, flicking his eyes down to Tim’s cock. To his surprise he sees it’s still somehow half hard, all shiny with cum and slick, which starts a short battle in Jon’s gut between disgust and excitement, which the excitement does in fact win. 

“Jesus Christ, Timothy, aren’t you a bit too old for this sort of stamina? If I remember correctly, marijuana has the opposite of a positive effect on _refractory periods_ , what could possibly— _hey!”_

He exclaims as Tim wraps an arm around his waist and drags him forward, up into his lap. 

“So you changed your mind, huh?” Tim breathes, and nudges Jon’s hand out of the way to press over his cunt, pushing the heel of his palm very nicely against Jon’s dick. “What’s got you all hot and bothered then, sweetheart?”

Jon rolls his eyes and grinds back against Tim’s hand. “I think my brain just took a little while to catch up, maybe.” He says, because he doesn’t really want to admit that he thinks he just got jealous, then started thinking too hard about getting fucked, for maybe a bit too long because he forgot about other things, and then got turned on because of it.

“God, how are you so sexy even when you say things that aren’t sexy at all,” Tim groans, flattening his palm at the small of Jon’s back to pull him in for a messy kiss. Jon attempts to give a proper response but it doesn’t work, given that the moment he opens his mouth Tim’s tongue is fully in there. 

When Tim flips him onto his back Jon feels like he’s on a rollercoaster again, not so strongly this time but it’s fun nonetheless and he laughs, lifting his hips so that Tim can all but rip his shorts off. “Tim, you’re not even fully erect again yet, there’s no need to be so hasty.” He says, still chuckling to himself. He lets his hand flop up next to his head and it feels heavy; his hair feels oddly soft and he twists it around his fingers as he watches Tim push up his shirt, mumbling something about ‘fully erect’ in a mocking tone that Jon chooses to ignore. He wonders how long it will take for them to come down. He wonders how many times Tim and Martin had done this before he came along.

Tim’s mouth is warm against his chest, and his tongue feels nice, slick as it slides over Jon’s peaked nipple. When he bites down Jon’s cunt throbs and he arches up, pressing against Tim, enjoying the solid bulk of him. “Can you fuck me now?” He asks, reaching out to brush over Tim’s hair.

“Gimme a minute,” Tim mumbles, sliding down Jon’s body, pausing to press two kisses, one to his ribs and another to the soft spot above his hip, and then he’s spreading Jon open and licking into him eagerly and it’s almost too much too fast, but Jon is foggy and so it doesn’t matter, and it’s good, and he moans and tugs at his own hair. 

Martin is there, then, kneeling down beside the couch where he was in the beginning, and Jon tips his head to the side to look at him. “Hi,” he says, reaching out to touch. Martin tips his head back against the couch cushion and smiles up at him, leaning against Jon’s hand. 

“Hi.” He says back, and he looks sleepy, and pretty, and somehow that backwards curl is still there. At this point Jon doesn’t want to fix it, he’s started making little bets with himself on how long it will manage to stay there, and if he fixes it that would be cheating. Tim lifts Jon’s hips and presses his tongue inside him, and Jon gasps, and Martin turns his head to see. 

“This is a fun new angle.” He says, and Jon laughs, because it seems like the right moment to laugh. 

When Tim moves back up to kiss him he tastes of Jon, and Jon is annoyed at how he likes it. When Tim presses into him, slowly at first and then all at once, the way he knows Jon likes it— well. Jon is too busy to be annoyed, then.

~

Tim fucks him for a long time, and it’s good, _really good,_ and it feels the same as always but a bit different, because he keeps getting distracted, and then Tim snaps his hips just perfect and it’s like the first shove again every time as Jon yelps softly and sweet warmth shudders up through him and settles in his chest, coiling up tighter and tighter. 

“Jon,” Tim’s breath is coming in pants as he speaks for the first time in a while, hot and sticky against the shell of Jon’s ear. Every rock of his hips builds the growing ache of pleasure in Jon’s gut as he pushes deep; it curls up into Jon’s ribs and around his lungs like a gravity, pulling him in towards some central dense point of _want_ . Jon hums distantly, his head fuzzy and empty; he’s been watching the curl brush against Martin’s cheek for what feels like hours. How long has it _been?_

“Jon, tell me about something,” Tim whispers breathlessly.

Jon blinks, breaking the spell that kept him staring at that lonely curl and drags his eyes over the rest of Martin’s lovely face. “Tell you about what?

“About anything, I don’t know, go back to the wheel of death, I don’t care.”

Martin’s eyes flick up to meet his and crinkle at the edges as he smiles. Jon’s heart gets caught in the gravity.

“Do you know what happens when a star dies?” 

“ _Hh..._ sort of, but tell... tell me anyways.”

Martin’s hand is moving between his legs again, and Jon isn’t sure if this is a new development or if he’s just noticing. 

“Well, after millions of years, eventually a star burns out all of its fuel. Hydrogen, of course. And it can become millions of kilometers across after that, just absolutely massive.”

Martin’s eyes are watching Jon’s mouth as he talks, and Jon is watching his eyes. He’s going to come soon, he thinks. Jon is, not Martin, but maybe Martin is too. Jon can’t quite tell. 

“At that point, some of them collapse. I think they really just let the gravity become too much, you know. Just drag it all into this dense little mass that eventually goes cold and disappears into nothing.”

Tim has gone quiet, breath ragged, hips still moving steady but more forceful. The insistent feeling in Jon’s gut is growing, and he has a feeling this one is going to be a slow death, one that rolls over him in waves until it disappears. 

“Some of them, though. They don’t collapse after they burn out. As they run out of fuel, the mass of them starts to sink into their core. It gets so heavy that it can’t withstand its own gravitational pull anymore.”

Martin’s mouth has fallen open slightly, and Jon can’t help but reach out and touch. Martin’s eyelids flicker as Jon’s fingertips brush over his lips, and his tongue darts out to wet them. 

“The core collapses, then.”

Martin leans forward just enough to suck lightly on the tips of Jon’s fingers for a second, and then lets them go. Tim’s rhythm has gone jerky and he’s whimpering into Jon’s ear. Jon can feel a whisper of his pleasure, knows it’s sharp and almost too much, knows in the back of his mind that he’s going to come apart all at once and then shake for a long time. 

“And finally, it explodes, sending all of itself out into the universe in the biggest explosion that human scientists have ever observed.”

In the front of his mind is Martin. Dumbly he takes back his hand, unable to drag his eyes away as Martin watches, breath quickening as Jon brings his fingertips to his tongue and just presses them there for a moment. Martin gasps softly, and his back arches. Tim’s fingers dig hard into Jon’s sides as he whines, shoving deep enough that Jon can feel him push against his dick from the inside. 

“Then all that’s left is— _ah—_ a… a black hole.” He finishes, and he really was going to say more, because it’s really quite interesting, how little science knows about black holes, that if anything gets close enough to know it gets destroyed under the sheer force of it. He wonders if _he_ could know about them, from here, from this safe distance. He wonders if he is a black hole himself, as he comes, the whole of him tensing and pulling Tim in, and Martin comes, quiet and shaking, and Tim comes, in a jerking burst of warmth that Jon feels inside him and with a shout that he feels in his bones.

It’s just breathing then, for a while, as Tim slowly stops shaking. Until Martin reaches up and scrubs a hand through his hair, and Jon doesn’t mean to but he makes a pained noise as the curl finally gets caught under Martin’s thumb and tucked back behind his ear.

Martin looks at him with mild alarm and Tim shifts and groans softly. He’s half asleep, by now. 

“Okay, Jon?” Martin asks. He’s glowing, softly like the air around him is charged. Or maybe Jon is just still quite a bit high. He smiles at Martin and runs a soothing hand down Tim’s sweaty back. 

“I’m just fine, thank you.” He says, and Martin smiles, and Jon feels like a star. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello  
> I started this fic in MAY and I'm so glad I finished it because I have been very passionate about it for a long time  
> thank you for readin heehee come yell at me if u wish @squeebop or nsfw @archivemedaddy


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